"I'd like to see the Director."
"You have an appointment?"
"No."
"Then--"
"Here." Tedor reached into his pocket and withdrew his credentials.
The receptionist's face lit up. "You're an Agent! Did you know I've
been working in the Eradrome five years and you're the first agent I've
ever seen? I was beginning to think they didn't really exist. I'll tell
the Director you're here, Mr. Barwan."
Moments later, Tedor was ushered into a plush office which borrowed
its furnishings from half a dozen civilizations. Most of the furniture
was what the 20th century called Swedish modern, but the carpeting was
authentic 10th century Persian, the drapes came from someplace in the
Orient about five hundred years later, the pictures on the wall were
replicas of drawings found in caves in southern France. The net result
was garish but impressive.
Behind the birch desk sat a man of about forty, well-groomed, graying
at the temples.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Barwan. Cigar?"
"Twentieth century, I see."
"It's one of the most popular eras," the Director said.
"I'd like you to check on this woman for me," Tedor said hoping the
Director would excuse his abrupt departure from the customary social
banter. "It's urgent." Tedor gave the Director a picture of Laniq
Hadrien and added, "We have reason to believe she's gone into time."
"Why, this is Laniq Hadrien! Certainly you know her father, Domique
Hadrien...."
"Yes. His theory of a monopolist of despotism has given our department
some wild goose chase headaches."
The Director nodded, pressed a buzzer on his desk. A young man entered
the office a moment later, receiving the picture and a few terse
words before departing. "It shouldn't take long," the Director told
Tedor. "Did you also know that the Hadriens, father and daughter, are
non-temps?"
"No. I didn't."
"Yes, non-temps."
The non-temps, Tedor knew, were a growing cult which insisted
time-travel was an evil both from the point of view of the ages visited
and of the age _doing_ the visiting. They had gathered considerable
data to prove their point, and although Tedor never looked into it
thoroughly, some said they put up a convincing though completely
impractical argument.
"We've got our hands full with Hadrien and his followers, just as you
have," said the Director. "You can't argue with their figures, but
sometimes figures don't tell the entire story. Ten years ago, the
non-temps will tell you, the population of Earth was one billion,
far smaller than it was in the past because of a sensible policy of
eugenics. Today the population is somewhat short of a billion, they
say, and the census verifies it.
"Ten years ago, they continue, a quarter of a million people commuted
into time daily to work in the various ages, sleeping here but working
and vacationing else-when. Today the figure has grown to three quarters
of a _billion_, and it's still increasing.
"And seventy-five million people have vanished into the past. They
simply preferred the past ages and broke all relations with the
present. But that's the problem of you Agents, not us."
"Don't I know it!" Tedor said.
"The non-temps say this is a dangerous trend. They further maintain
it is our own fault. We provide no real culture of our own, no sense
of belonging. We gear everything to the past ages, converting our own
world to a sort of administration center and nothing more. We work in
the past, receive our raw materials in the past; our art forms more and
more are concerned with other times, other places. We do nothing to
encourage living in our own century."
* * * * *